The scorched land will become a pool
And the thirsty ground springs of water;
In the haunt of jackals, its resting place,
Grass becomes reeds and rushes.
(Dried thistle along the banks of the Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland / Julie Cook / 2015)
I was weary…
dry and brittle of body, heart and soul…
Yet you Oh Lord have heard me in my distress.
You have seen to my weariness…
to the dryness and brittle spirit which as clung to me like an ashen paste.
You have refreshed and soothed a parched and thirsty heart
(the wild Atlantic somewhere along the Dingle Peninsula / County Kerry, Ireland / Julie Cook / 2015)
You have attended to a wounded soul…
My offering to you is a simple thankfulness that reaches to the depths of the sea
And the width of an endless sky…
(somewhere along the road in County Donegal, Ireland / Julie Cook / 2015)
“And the Lord will continually guide you,
And satisfy your desire in scorched places,
And give strength to your bones;
And you will be like a watered garden,
And like a spring of water whose waters do not fail.”